Days of Spring
by teddybowties
Summary: Jack goes to a dear friend's funeral, but that's just the appetizer.
1. Chapter 1

Days of Spring:

A Doctor Who fanfic written by myself and tardis-mole, the genius!

Disclaimer: Don't own em. Wish I did. I would be happy, then. The poem is mine though. NO TOUCHIE.

chapter one: Funeral Crashers

"Luke, Luke! This was not, I repeat not, -nor could it ever be- your fault! People die, my lad. They cease. It's nature's way, the way of the universe. Nothing much us mortals can do about it."

Jack smiled. Whoever the very pregnant woman was, she certainly had a way with children. And he had yet to catch her name...

As she touched him, Lucas Smith melted into sobs at once. Her hands held him close, perhaps a tad more closely than her swollen body would allow, but she held him none the less. Then, when his tears had dried enough, and her crinoline blouse had roughened enough with the salt of his let, she began to recite a poem, softly at first, always so softly, yet soon her words had drifted over the crowd that had gathered for the funeral of their friend like a sweet pall of petals.

"But for the fickle days of spring, what dance away their warmth in careless play, may ever we be mindful of the sacrifice of those more good than we, gone by the way. For if ever we forget the treasure of our solitude in gentle smiles once witnessed by those days, what should we do to fill our sad heart holes but grieve? Live in hope and breathe, I pray thee, live in hope and breathe for me."

Jack found himself enthralled with the woman's every word, despite not knowing a thing about her. In her own way, she was as mysterious as... as The Doctor had been, as he himself would always need to be.

But the whole preparation for this funeral had been strange; everyone who had ever known The Doctor had been asked to attend, and of course, those left behind had all come running. It would have been just like old times, if the man had been in attendance.

But Jack had yet to see his smiling face amidst the crowd of faithful companions who had gathered for the big day. He still couldn't believe it. There was quite an air of mystery about the thing, as though everyone involved in the behind the scenes planning somehow expected their Lord of Time to show up, cheeky as always, handing out jelly babies and playing with the smaller children, gabbling on about chocolate digestives or some sort of alien tech he'd just expropriated from some unlawful body for the cosmic good.

But that woman... she was still running her thumbs over the three older teenagers' sob-reddened cheeks when Jack came to see her again. She wasn't yet sitting down, odd for a woman in her condition, she'd been standing for what seemed like hours to him. Even still, despite all his careful glances at her person, he'd never quite expected her to look up.

"You've been watching me, Jack Harkness..." she said in that quiet, soothing tone, her voice like honey in his ears. He liked honey, it was sweet, organic, good for all sorts of pleasurable pursuits. But for some striking reason he just couldn't hit on, it wouldn't have been right to flirt with her, wouldn't be... clean. What was stranger was that everyone seemed to defer to her, in that wordless, absolute authority sort of way. Not like with The Doctor at all, most days.

Jack shivered as she looked him over gently with cornflower eyes full of pale morning. He couldn't speak, a singular occurrence for a man such as he. Normally it was the other person who did all the staring. Only Him, only The Doctor, he thought sullenly, as his body betrayed its desires to this beautiful creature before him. He had not felt such a stir of echoes since the wild night he'd first met Rose, and then her beloved Time Lord, so long ago.

Suddenly she looked to Luke, Maria and Clyde, who were looking back at her with blotchy smiles and wet eyes, and she said, faintly and so very sombrely, "Well, my lads and ladies, shall I tell them?"

But then the coffin was brought in, a simple affair in ash wood with one little grey pearl inlay sparrow sitting perched just so, nice and tight in the center of the lid.

"Ah, now it starts again. I loathe eulogies, I'm rubbish at them. But here I go..." her smooth, clear voice seemed at odds with her face, and as she straightened to the task, she seemed to pale slightly. Of course it would be difficult for all of them to say goodbye to Sarah Jane.

Jack hoped the woman wasn't feeling tired already, with her pregnancy so far along; it was bound to be a trying day for all of them. Shaking himself free of whatever was nagging his subconscious, he came up behind her and took her arm as she plodded toward the stage in slow, graceful steps.

"Thank you, Jack," she chided merrily, and for a moment it seemed her weariness had gone, so he went to his assigned seat and settled himself in, eagerly awaiting the moment when she would speak again, this time to the crowd, and to Sarah Jane in her coffin.

But before she could clip the miniature mic to her blouse, there rose a familiar protestation from the back of the building.

"I thought I told you to have someone put a chair up there for you, you mad old thing! How many times do I have to tell you not to stress yourself in your state? And seven months gone with multiples no less! What am I to do with you?"

Martha Jones? But what was she doing here? Didn't she have work? Jack nearly fell out of his seat as the woman on the platform placed a hand on her rather grand baby bump and gave a small grin. "Oh, Martha, sweetheart...really! I'm pregnant, not dying! What kept you, anyhow? I was only going to deliver my-

But the redhead in white didn't finish her sentence.

Doctor Jones sprinted down the aisle and was about to grab a decently padded lawn chair for the woman when a sharp intake of breath resounded through the atrium. All faces turned to the speaking platform, where the woman was holding on the podium as if it were the only thing keeping her on her feet. It was, but they didn't have to know that, did they?

"..as I was saying," the woman groaned, clutching her lower belly and blinking back tears, "I was only going to deliver the short version, and then the -oooh- festivities would start! I had -oh that definitely hurt- every intention of getting someone to fetch me a chair, Doctor Martha Jones! Of course, if my hearts rate goes any higher I'll be delivering something -oooh- significantly larger! -Ow- Oh I'm so rubbish at this! Oooooh...Bloody Braxton-Hicks! They're like...they're like -ooooh- like the ending to that one movie with Keanu Reeves! You know, that -ow ow ow- remake? "

Martha sighed and helped her to a chair. "What, all build up and no punch line? Tell me about it. Speaking of speaking...you know, you could just tell him."

Eyes like blue dwarf suns drifted up in a glaze. "What? And spoil the surprise? Oh all right. If it makes you happy, Martha. Jaaaaack!"

"Yes, ma'am?" Jack was upended, but this was no time for that. There was a pregnant woman in front of him, a woman who could not -could not- be who he thought she must have been.

And yet...that...sumptuous mouth. Those curves, those lines of... force...

"Jack Harkness! It's me! The 945 plus year old Time Lord, remember? Now get over here and give me your hand so I can crush it into a bloody -oooooooh- pulp!"

"Yes, sir!" Jack leaped up and rushed to the Doctor's side, a smirk growing steadily over his features. "You all right down there, Doc? No bleeding?"

"Ohhhhh! Ah, it's fading now, gone down quite a bit. Thank you, Jack, Martha. Whew, almost passed out there. No, no, no bleeding, thank Rassilon. I just need a minute." The Doctor drew a too deep breath and sank back in her chair, closing her eyes against the terrible exhaustion of the past few minutes. "Oh, and... whew. Maria sweetheart, tell Sarah Jane she can get out of the casket now. Poor thing. Hope she didn't get claustrophobic..."

Jack Harkness sighed and pulled up a chair himself. "You know Doc, it's a good thing you're so far along, or I would put you over my knee..."

The Time Lord shot the man a half baked glare and drew another deep breath. "You wouldn't dare, Monkey Boy."


	2. Chapter 2

chapter two: There's Something

"Captain Harkness..." Maria called from the viewing area, "I think you ought to see this, but don't tell the- ˮ

Too late, as the Doctor was already out of her chair and gliding toward Jack and Clive where they'd congregated around the false bottom coffin.

"Tell me what exactly, Maria? What are you four chirping about that doesn't warrant my knowledge? And where is Sarah? I thought I told one of you to go and... fetch her..." She was rendered speechless again, not by false contractions, but by the big blue crystal that was nestled where Sarah Jane Smith should have been lying in wait, giggling up at her Time Lord and smiling. Instantly she gripped the side of the box and pressed a hand to her stomach, drawing in some extra air as tepid shock ticked along her vertebrae in icy plinks.

"Woah, Doc! I've got you, just fall back!"

The Time Lord shivered in Jack's grasp, her focus centering on every point of resonance, every line, every vibration she could feel coming from the blue gem sitting silent in the bottom of the casket. The thing's not being extant... it was just too much. It shouldn't have been there, shouldn't have been anywhere. She thrust all of her long fingers at the jewel, jaggedly poking the space around her again and again, as if punching holes in the atmosphere could actually do her any good. "This is beyond disastrous. We need to call Alistair. He was with me when I... last used this." She took another breath, then waved Jack away and stuck her hand into the box, reaching for the stone. "Get them out of here," she murmured, holding back her hand until she was certain Sarah Jane's son and his two teenage companions were out of hearing range. "I have a sinking feeling that this is going to hurt. Even in this state, I won't take harm from whatever it throws at me, but I'm not sure you two will be able to stand watching. Still, it'll be all right. Just try not to panic if something happens, eh?"

Before Jack and Martha could rip her away from the casket, the Doctor shoved her hand inside to touch the blue stone. Nothing happened. Her fingers brushed the cool, smooth rough. She shook her head, blanking out briefly in concentration with Jack's steadying hand on her back, then blinked several times before touching it again, this time rubbing it hard in both hands, feeling for differences both organic and electric. "Well, everyone can come back in now, if they want, there's absolutely no sign of this crystal having ever been anywhere near Metebelis III. I'm, as they say, quite stumped. If anything's happened to her, I'll... well, I'll do something I shouldn't."

Martha's scowl grated across the Time Lord's back. "You endanger those babies and I'll smother you with a celery-scented pillow. You wouldn't like that very much, would you, Doctor?"

No comment, save a very unladylike sniff.

"What about Mister Smith, Doctor?" Luke said, popping up behind them like an over zealous gnat. "Before we uploaded the virus that destroyed his memory, he claimed he was the one behind the Bane, and a whole lot of other things...a Zylok. Perhaps if you had the TARDIS search those dumped files, it could turn up something useful!"

The Doctor just stared. This was far beyond lucky. "Good lad, Luke! Ha! When we find your mother, I may just have to steal you away from her for a bit. You remind me of a young man who used to travel with me... " She touched her stomach, seeking comfort from the little lives nestled in her womb. "He... he died. I'll never forgive myself for that."

Tears were already beginning to puff up her face, so Martha decided to cut everything off before it started up again. "Doctor, you're stressing. Now don't argue, it's back to the TARDIS with you for a good four hours of sleep. Let us take care of this crystal thing and Sarah Jane, yeah?"

That's right, Doctor," Jack said, gripping the Time Lord's shoulder and leading her to back to the big square of now empty chairs, far away from the scene of the crime.


	3. Chapter 3

chapter three: House Call

The heart faced woman in the back of the van was still asleep when Ianto Jones pulled into the parkway of 13 Bannerman Road. The three kids opened their doors quietly; no use waking the Doctor when there was nothing for her to do but worry about Sarah Jane. Her beloved TARDIS was in the upstairs room, keeping Sarah's alien computer company.

As all four of them eased the slumbering Time Lord onto a stretcher and hefted her up the front steps, Ianto found himself wondering how the Old Girl had gotten on with Mister Smith, all alone up there in Sarah Jane's attic. Perhaps when the Doctor awoke he, sorry she -would any of them ever get used to that?- would feel up to explaining just what she thought was going on, and why she had gone so pale at the sight of the brilliant blue crystal Jack had taken from her trembling hands. And then, she'd turned a very odd shade of concerned when the crystal didn't do what she'd been expecting. It would be a very long night, indeed.

Fifteen minutes later...


	4. Chapter 4

chapter four: Blue Dress On

It was long past midnight.

Everyone in the house on 13 Bannerman Road, resident, neighbor and all, seemed to be asleep. Of course, he'd asked Ianto to drug them all with sedative, and then take some himself. The Welshman was efficient that way. Humming _"You're The Cream in My Coffee"_, the shadowy figure of Jack Harkness let himself into the house then slowly scanned the den, looking for a certain woman who held a certain key... It would certainly put a damper on things if any of them, especially her, were to wake up and spoil everything. But try as he might, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, that someone was watching him, but it was always best to assume the worst and keep going, so he kept on searching the rooms, faster and faster of feet as he followed the one who he was certain was following him.

Where was the woman? Was it she who was so relentless in this seeming impromptu keeping to the shadows? He chuckled to himself. Well, if the woman was awake, he hoped for her sake there weren't any mirrors. The tiny creatures growing in her body weren't likely to appreciate another big shock to her system, especially if she reacted too strongly to the Trickster Bug perched between his shoulder blades like a Geiger-esque knapsack. Then suddenly, the traitor screech of upward stairs gave his unwilling admirer away. With lips that felt like asphalt against what was left of his free will, he mouthed the words like a mechanized Kirschwasser, moving with fluid, catlike rhythm to catch the woman, who far too soon was halfway up the stairs. The sound of a door sliding open brought him closer to his mark, and soon he was in the upstairs room, the attic bolt hole full of priceless things. The older one, the Smith woman, must have hidden a life's worth of stolen alien tech in this room, along with various objet d art.

It was so dark. He almost imagined the darkness to be a tangible thing, to have a heart, a thick core near the center of the-

But then a faint snapping noise was heard, and a blue door whipped out from his left and banged into him, knocking him to the ground.

She was here.

She was here, and it was on.

He pushed himself to his feet. The bug on his back was not the ordinary kind that the Doctor was familiar with, it was different. Stronger. Its mental acuity more focused and at the same time, more subtle in its control. He could sense its presence, and he wanted what it wanted. Only that, and nothing more.

A voice resounded from the darkness then, and the man who had once been Jack Harkness could have laughed, had he a mind to. But all he wanted was... wait. What _did_ he want? Somewhere behind him, he could feel the black, spindle legged creature shiver slightly, as though someone were distracting its alien mind from its steely control of his. That simply wouldn't do. He liked it this way, he reasoned as he stuck a hand out, blindly smacking into the large blue box in the center of the room. He would make no further attempt to shield himself from her.

"It took you at the funeral, Jack. I handed you over, unknowing. It was that well hidden. I'm sorry...but you'll come back. Come back, Jack. Come back when you can, when it's safe," the woman's soft voice intoned smoothly, throwing her words off the walls as in some caverned chamber far within the Earth. They seemed to come from everywhere, those words, like a far away light. But the Bug dwelt within his missing years...how could he navigate a maze he thought he'd never seen? The light seemed sentimental, it called to him, wanted him to wake up, to see what he was doing. But then, another shiver wracked him, and he felt his feet move in alien accord. His body swayed into a martial stance; he could sense his muscles tensing under the insect's hold. His hand strayed to his pocket, where he had placed the crystal, and he drew it out. Strange how when he looked into it, his thoughts seemed to clear...

Again the voice came, clearer than before, calm, soothing. Crystalline, full of age and the strain of lost youth, the words came into focus in his head, and so did something else. Pain, and streams of golden light that struck at the blackness corroding him. Memory returned in one swift stroke, long enough for him to cry out to the Doctor. Then the Bug slammed down its control with ruthless efficiency and drove him toward the window. He had to escape from that woman, had to escape from the Doctor's power before he remembered. It was all he could do to keep her from harm. After all, she could die, but he couldn't. Wasn't that the way of things between them? One look into the Doctor's bright eyes, two azure flames flecked by gold in the darkness, and he was gone to yet another death.

The Doctor watched from her shady corner as Captain Jack Harkness knocked himself senseless, straight into Mr. Smith's side of the wall. As if there had ever been any room for a window in Sarah Jane's cozy little sanctum. "You naughty little thing. Never stood a chance against me, you know. You were doomed to fail, even with the crystal." She rounded on the prostrate man, easing her gravid body down onto one slight knee, and then placed her hand on his temples. "There, there...no mussing this up for yourself, eh? You've caused enough damage already. Just tell me where my Sarah is, and I'll let you go. You can even come onto my ship. After I've given birth to my little ones, I promise I'll take you to wherever the rest of your friends have secreted themselves." She held out her hand, but the insect on Jack's back shuddered away from her fingers and melted into acrid smoke. Predictably, it had chosen death.

With a sigh she sank to the floor, her task completed for the moment, and took Jack's head into her lap, her last effort before she passed out in an exhausted sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

chapter five: I Remember Mama

_Humble Author's Note: All of this chapter -brilliant ain't it?- save the first line was written by my lovely friend, Tardis-Mole! BOW TO THE MASTER!_

When Sarah Jane Smith awoke, it was not to the sound of Mister Smith's ludicrous fanfare. It was quiet, but not. There were all sorts of sounds going on that individually were quiet, but all together made a horrendous din. It was a white noise, like rock music at 2 am against the backdrop of summer crickets. And it hurt. There was a pulsing inside her head that was either high blood pressure or her heart suddenly deciding that 'if you can't beat them join them' was the motto for the day.

She winced, half beginning to wonder why she couldn't see. Was she even awake? If the thundering noise was hurting and she could feel it hurting, then she was awake. She couldn't see a thing, but there seemed to be an awful lot of light. Or was it so dark that her brain was playing tricks on her?

No, it was definitely light and definitely loud. And it smelled like... like vintage wine that had been swallowed in too large amounts and then unceremoniously whopped up in Bristol fashion. And then left to fester for at least two wonderful days at room temperature and copiously and regularly topped up as and when it began to evaporate.

And that wasn't the only smell. There was day old sweat lingering in the air, along with two-day-old, three-day-old and perhaps older sweat that hung like a pall in the air, clinging around the atmosphere at chin level and cloying into every open orifice of the face - and any other - until you gagged for want of air.

Sarah Jane felt quite nauseated.

She had been looking forward to a brilliant send off - not that she was dead mind you - everything had been arranged. Even the flowers had sounded lovely. Of course, she had been inside the hollow bottomed coffin at the time so she couldn't actually give her opinion of the flowers.

She had heard the Doctor giving calm instructions, had heard him, sorry her, giving comfort and more instructions, and then the buzzing had started. She had all of three seconds to work out where she had heard that sound before, though strictly speaking it was not so much a sound as a sensation, a tingling all over. It had begun pleasantly enough, but then it had begun to hurt. It had drilled into her from everywhere at once, every cell of her body had throbbed, just once.

And then it had stopped.

And then she was here... where ever here was. She couldn't hear her son, or the others. She couldn't hear the Doctor any more.

Finally she managed to open one eye, just a crack. She closed it again, realising that her senses had been bang on. There was far too much light. But as she flinched the light and sound just stopped. Out like a light. Switched off. No slowing or dimming, just stopped.

"She is awake!"

After the din of before Sarah Jane winced at the shrieked voice. It hurt, like an arc of a scream of pain across her raw nerves. Think, she told herself. How can sound hurt? Psychic waves. Telepathy. Psionic intrusion. Some sort of translator circuit plugged directly into her brain.

Actually, now that she thought about it... there was something stuck to her head, in several places.

"She knows!"

Sarah Jane flinched again, even more than before.

"She seeeeeeeeess!"

Sarah Jane flinched so hard that her skin contacted against the ice cold metal of the bars securing her in place. She had not noticed she was secured to anything. In fact she had thought she had been suspended in midair, but now she could actually feel the metal table she was held down on.

And then as she recovered from the flinch, the sound started again, and this time she could define it, she could recognise it for what it was. Voices. Hundreds and thousands of voices, one on top of the other overlapping, drenching her senses, drowning her mind and there was another sound.

An utterly new sound entered the mix, a horrific sound, a melancholic, terrified, agonised, clawing draining sound.

A scream.

Hers.

Alone.

----

She stopped only when her throat was too sore to go on. It felt like days, but she had no way of knowing how long it had continued. She seemed to come up to consciousness to total silence. You could hear an atom drop.

Her mouth was dry and her lips were dry and her eyes felt like 50-grit sanding paper. Opening her eyes gave her very little in terms of detail, but her only companion was a hooded figure, gangly and not quite human. But she could not see its face.

"Doctor!" she called out on impulse.

But Sarah Jane already knew the answer long before she heard the noise. The scuttling of many legs. Hundreds of legs. Thousands of legs. She was not on Earth. She was somewhere else. And as she felt the first legs touch her, she trembled, shaking in terror.

Even as she looked down she had already confirmed in her mind what she would find. And it was staring at her; its eight black glittering eyes were trained on her as it lifted itself onto the table at her feet.

"Doctor!" she screamed again, swallowing, her dry throat sticking together.

And the spider kept coming.


	6. Chapter 6

chapter six: Three of Wands

"No, Brigadier."

"Of course, Brigadier."

"Yes, Brigadier, she has a slight fever."

"Well, if she was fighting for control of that crystal there until recently, I'm not in the least bit surprised. The last time I saw that thing, it turned a deficient into a genius. It also helped the enemy to murder a man who was trying to help us solve its riddle. Indirect cause, mind you, but still. Is she awake yet?"

"No, sir," Martha said softly, taking in the man who had come to lead in light of Jack's forced absence. "She is seven months gone with multiples, sir. I suggest ordering her to bed rest when she does. I've seen her this affected before. It's never a pretty sight."

Alistair Leithbridge-Stewart inclined his head at Martha, then turned back to the woman lying as if in state on the bed, hands folded above her burgeoning waist, feet pointed down straight. "Classic healing coma, if I had to guess, Doctor Jones. Jolly good thing you are such a fine physician. The last one we had, well, the Doctor here woke up a bit disoriented after a bad regeneration and stuffed the poor man in the cabinet. Andrews, I believe. Good man, a shame what happened. But anyway, it was utterly...utterly Doctorish. Miss Smith had to talk him down, and she did it. Talked him right out of leaving in the TARDIS. It went pretty smooth from there. Never did get used to the curly hair though. Or that horribly overlong scarf...Anyway, there you have it." Suddenly the old soldier drew back and smiled. "Ah, look there," he muttered, his throat catching on a bit of fresh pride, "The, erm, patient seems to be just this side of waking up."

"Uhg. Who ordered the Time Lord in black bean sauce? I feel like something Jack... never mind." The Doctor blinked, frowning just once before her lips broke away from each other in that small, infectious grin that always seemed to grow on a person. Then she sat upright with a loud huff and slapped her hands down in front of her, as close to her long legs as her belly would allow. Then she drew her legs up and sat cross legged on the bed. her breathing slowed, and Martha could swear she heard the air catch in the Time Lord's throat. "So...where -is- the man of the hour?" Her almondine eyes of blue took on that solemn stare, which she skirted about the room above an ample teacher's pout. No prisoners, then. Martha watched as those long fingers clawed the mattress whitely through the sheets, belying the calm on her ancient friend's face. "I don't think I made myself clear," the Doctor said again, not bothering to budge from her nest of bed linens. "Where. Is. Jack?"

Martha stiffened; none of the alien woman's earlier hesitation was evident in her tone, indeed, she seemed angry. Little wonder, after what had happened two days before. The Doctor had slept a long time... Slowly, deliberately, she took a step toward the bed and opened her mouth to speak. "Ah, Doctor? You okay?" Her hand jumped forward involuntarily, to comfort the Time Lord, and surprisingly, the hand was taken and clasped, gently at first, then more tightly as the moments passed, clutching, half releasing and clutching again in a steady rhythm, almost as if-

"No I'm not, Martha," came the dreadful reply. Martha felt ill. With everything else that wasn't going right, what else could possibly go pear-shaped if the Doctor came right out and admitted she was less than one billion per cent? The Doctor's health was definitely delicate in her current state, even if she were a 950 years young extraterrestrial from a highly advanced... Oh! The hand, the squeezing! It was so obvious! She could have smacked herself for being so dense, but then the Doctor caught her eyes with her own and smiled thinly. "I'm very angry at myself right now. Number one: I'm in no condition to just hop up and run at the mo, which leaves the rest of you kiddies on your own in dealing with a frightfully terrifying group of individuals who will stop at nothing to pursue their own malevolently adolescent ends, whatever they may be. Tit for tat, you lot know what to do. So why are you hopping about here, with me? Get to it already! Number two: I am pregnant with triplets, at a time when I ought to have known better. I must be the most selfish person in the cosmos to have gone and gotten myself in this fix when there are so many people still in need of our efforts. And, the coups de grace." She paused, blinking several times before returning to her line of thought, "On the other hand, I have just bled myself into a nasty mess, though you couldn't see it from how I'm sitting. Felt my waters rupture in my sleep, I did. 's why I woke up. Contractions are steady, been steady for about, oh, an hour or so, plus or minus fifteen point three three seven nine five two seconds, if you really want to get a bit technical at a time like this. Now, judging by how far I've dilated, I would imagine I need to start pushing in about, oh, twenty six point seven seconds. Any volunteers for breath coach? Not that I need one, I have near complete control over my muscles... still, might make someone feel useful. Oh I know! What about Mickey? Oh that's brilliant! We'll make a full man of him yet." She laughed, pleased at the obvious tease of the young man Mickey had already become.

Everyone was staring. Had she just rattled it off, just like that? How very like her.

Ianto was the first to speak up. "Erm, what do you need, ma'am? Ice, water, something to take the edge off?"

The Doctor just grinned, although her face was beginning to whiten. "Another contraction?" Martha asked, but strangely, the woman just shoved her hand away managing to steady a rather pointed look at the Brigadier.

"Don't let anyone come close, Alistair. And that means you, Martha love. I know all of you want nothing but to help me, but this is too dangerous. I would hate it if I harmed any of you. So Martha, no epidural for the cranky Time Lord. No buts, no...whew, here comes another...right then." The alien then took a deep breath and focused on the Brigadier once more, trying to speak in between those all-important breaths. "I need Jack, if he'll have me. His are the only limbs that will heal quickly if I lose control and utilize my...full strength... during the birth."

Her tone was getting heavier, Martha could tell. The softly panting Time Lord must have been horribly involved in some sort of conscious muscular realignment, because she was staring ahead, seemingly intent on the footboard of the long, high Victorian bed they'd had brought in for her.

Suddenly, Jack burst into the room, as though he'd heard The Doctor's mental intonations when the others hadn't. But whether he had heard anything or not, it no longer mattered, because just as he entered the room, the blue crystal on the bedside table strobed wildly, shoving beams of light out in time with The Doctor's controlled heaves. He no longer neededto protect himself from it, as The Time Lord had broken the link between them by destroying the Bug.

"Doctor... " Jack said softly, wincing as he took in the strain in his friend's face, "are you aware that your birth blood is pooling on the lower floor? I thought you might want to know."

Thecrystal still pulsed in time, unnoticed.

"Ugh! Really, Jack? Good to... know! Got to... be more careful with the pesky stuff! Oh no." Abruptly The Doctor's face went porcelain white, her beautiful blues deepening to the exact shade and hue of the lonely crystal sitting on the stand beside the bed, and a scream laced her last effort with an urgency all but forgotten in the moments before. _"Oh Rassilon! Sarah, no! What have they done to you?"_ Her fingers tangled as talons in the sweaty bed sheets, curling like the bony claws of the ancient Greek ferryman of the Styx. Then, before Jack could reach her, she let out one last sobbing scream of _"Sarah! Sarah Jane!"_ and drove herself into her task, arching horribly backward and forward as might a stricken tree, and gave birth, expelling her three children onto the warm towels someone had laid at her feet there, herself now surrounded by wide eyed faces as she lay back and struggled to breathe.

Thethree twists of precious umbilical slid from her, three wet winding ropes combining the refreshing purples of blueberry yogurt and the red, thick streaks of deep body blood found oft times on freshly slaughtered meat. It was over, at last. But as hands took the three softly mewling prematures and cleaned and dried them, no one noticed their mother's blood pressures drop sharply, for whatever reason.

Oh yes, it was over, thought the Watcher in the silence that followed its replacing the small nucleic inhibitor it had used on the very much distracted Time Lord. It could have grinned, had it human features. For now the life of the Last Hero of Gallifrey was over as well.


	7. Chapter 7

chapter seven: One if by Korma

Again, it was time for the Triad to summon the Ruined One.

Klaltiel, First of the Three, brushed her spindle leg against her young host, a Solian orphan girl named Clover Ann Ferris. Using Solian youngsters was so much more efficient than the previous method had been. That one time sister who had thought to use only grown men had failed utterly, utterly and completely, her actions resulting in a blunder that had nearly caused the extinction of their entire race. Children were more malleable, more directable. More shapeable. Times had changed with the new order, and now that the remains of the Ruined One had been reclaimed from the shining crystal ash of her cavern on Metebelis III, it was time for revenge against the Lord of Time for her murderous, meddling ways. The Triad had allies, this time, a fanatic splinter cell of telepathic beetles called the Eyes of the Eucharist, cast out from the Trickster's Brigade for their unproductive suicidal despotism. Fools, but useful, in their way. For together with the Eyes, the Triad would rise up and defeat the ancient alien who had dared denounce their claim to the cosmos in the Ruined One's presence. The one who had murdered Her.

It was time to seek the Third. By this time, the Eyes had already found the boy who was to be his host, and were bringing him to her. The Solians were so foolish, to pin their hopes on this Doctor's sleeve, to look to her for guidance.

But where was the Second, Kunnun? She had already infiltrated the odd Solian festivity by way of a Beetle for stealth, planted on the man called Harkness, and was to have reported back once that unknowing host had reached the house.

Anxious for the briefing to begin, Klaltiel spoke through her own host now, the girl's lips moving in synch to the flexing of her beautiful anterior limbs... against all restraint she had really become quite taken with the little joys of her new post, the wide variety of consumable items her kind had never had or required on Metebelis III. And of these new delights, she favoured most intently the concept of Korma, a certain kind of Solian sauce on rice dish certain of the natives enjoyed occasionally, sometimes along with the cooked meat of a previously slaughtered land animal called a chicken...she could almost feel the last time young Clover had indulged in the succulent meal. A handsome if scruffy young man called Thete had taken pity on the girl's thinness and so the two had stopped at an ethnic eatery on the waterfront. Strange how the man had almost seemed aware of Klatiel's hiding place as she nestled beneath Clover Ann's short bob of fine brown hair. How very-

"Klaltiel! This is no Time for idle mental chatter. Still your mind and let us commence with the second phase. We have received reports from the Bugs that the Doctor is sufficiently inhibited. We go forward with our plans tonight, Sister." That disembodied voice, with its barbs and its promises, was her contact on the Council of Six. How fitting that the name of the gathering that would bring about the Doctor's downfall contained a number sacred to the Time Lords and their precious Gallifrey. What was more, the council's alliance with the surreptitious Beetles who'd run afoul of the Trickster's Brigade had born fruit, fruit that were more than willing to submit to the suicide missions Klaltiel's kin had bound them to here on Sol 3.

With a mental sigh, Klaltiel called to her two companions, Kunnun and Kelmatel. Kelmatel, despite being the Third, had contacted her already, wondering about Kunnun's failure to report in at the scheduled time. That little point of fact had been omitted from both their official reports, given earlier in the morning when Clover and Kelmatel's host Bran had been asleep. Already one wrinkle in the plan. She would have to go and take care of things herself, it seemed. But perhaps, she thought as she spurred Clover and her new Bug outside to -play- hide and seek in the farmer's truck, -easily manipulated Solian male that he was- there might be some time to stop for some Korma on the way to the Smith woman's home.


	8. Chapter 8

chapter eight: Right as Rain

"What are you doing now, Jack?"

Jack Harkness sighed for the fiftieth time that morning. Would she never shut up? Eagerly he busied his hands, getting back to work down low where things most needed coddling. Amazing how he could work at all without her distracting him. Still, he'd gotten used to it around the fifteenth repetition. He shoved himself deeper in, hoping against... something... that she would give him what he wanted, what he needed. But just as he expected, she arched up again, her hands scrabbling in the sheets, blue eyes clawing for purchase on the ceiling as she nearly reached climax. Again. He desperately needed to know what it was doing to her, to be with him for so long.

"And what are you doing with those self buckling straps? I certainly don't need them."

This time she nearly sang out. That was it. He bared down on her, ramming her into the thick, hard mattress as he waited for her body to spasm once more.

"You are staying in this bed until I say otherwise, Doctor, and that's an or- ooph!" Her hand met with his flesh as she laid a choice slap across his tight, tender cheek.

"I never said anything about horseplay. Or foreplay for that matter. Which is probably what this is. I admit I'm a bit rusty, but good lord, Jack! Do you think you could possibly get a move on before the cows really do come home? I mean, they might be off downing tequila with the locals on Carne VI! The planet, not the two for one bucket deal at the Mexican take away. Long and the short of it, I think you had better find a suitable way to explain yourself before the others come up here and find you've been lax in your- "

Abruptly her voice adjusted itself, becoming higher and too quiet very quickly, like the titter of a mouse fleeing a hawk. Or one who had just been caught.

"Jack... " She squeezed his hand so hard in that moment, he thought she might have broken something. "Sarah, it's my Sarah Jane again! I can't feel her, Jack. They've taken her off planet, just as before! I need the Imprimatur if I'm going to find her! Without it, I'll..."

Jack felt his hand being crushed by the alien he secretly adored more than anything then, the bones turning to dust amidst the mush of killed muscles in a brutally unsubtle embrace of fingers. But he did not cry out even when she sank, utterly spent, back down onto the sheets and finally, finally let him buckle the straps as gently as he could around her wrists.

"Please try to relax as best you can. These straps are so you don't hurt yourself when you convulse, Doctor. You've been doing it in spurts ever since last night, ever since you... freed me from the Bug. I've... I've been with you all night and most of the morning, holding you down during the episodes."

The Doctor looked up at him with puffy red lids and tried to smile, but she could manage only a faint grin as he held her to him, feeling his warmth trying so hard to break the ice that was inching through her at a fateful, ever quickening march. "Hardly. But, the Imprimatur... my link to the TARDIS... I'll die without it, Jack. And they'll die without me, without us. Someone needs to save Sarah, and the TARDIS. Someone needs to save us. And I... " She stared off, away into her own schism, perhaps, and closed her eyes. "I can't do it this time, Jack. Oh my Sarah! I've gone and left you again. She won't curse me for it either, Jack. She'll want to, but she won't. You have to save her. You're a Time Agent, after all. See this? I'm feeling my years, that's what it is. A near century of mostly blissful time travel and with those damn artificial nuclei deactivated it's all coming back to bite me on the- "

She coughed then, and Jack stared at her in horror, because there was blood on her lips, blood on the sheets, blood on the blankets. Not a great amount, but it was enough. Even a drop would have been enough to call Martha. But he didn't. He just laid the Doctor down gently, then meticulously tightened the straps. He wiped her mouth with a clean flannel, slowly backing away, holding her hand as long as he could until their fingers were no longer touching.

As he walked across the hall with a bottle of bourbon in his right hand, TARDIS key in his left, oh god how he wished it had been him, running up that hill.


	9. Chapter 9

chapter nine: Mulberry Days

Without taking her eyes from her task, the Doctor regarded her swollen breasts, the twin, tight mounds full and fat and firm with lactation after the all too recent delivery of her three infant children. They might have risen a bit too prominently from her smooth white silk bodice, but at least she couldn't be accused of staring at her own bosom, at least, not for another hour or so, when Ianto Jones came up to bring her some tea. Still, she couldn't very well go out and buy new clothes. Genuine silk was the only thing that wouldn't irritate her skin. And she wasn't going to ask where it came from. She didn't want to know.

"Knight to E4, Alistair. I see your queen and raise you a horseman," she murmured, still glaring at her unseemly show of skin in the Brigadier's presence. With a certain horror she realized she could feel her thick, milk-sore nipples sticking out from the silk like two prying fingers. Time Lord superiority and all, the Doctor blushed, finding it hard to breathe as she thought about what Romana would surely have said if she'd been... around to notice the changes. "It's time to feed the children."

The man across from her raised his dark eyebrows and sniffed, then let them float back down again. "I say, Doctor, not sure if I'll ever get used to the idea of you having, ah, all the female endowments, if you hazard my guess. But don't mind me, old man, just go and do it, what?"

Of course he knew the miraculous woman from Gallifrey was no longer listening. Brigadier Alistair Gordon Leithbridge-Stewart felt his shoulders stiffen as he followed the line of her arm, and as he got to her hands, his mouth nearly dropped off his face. Those slender fingers were fondling the sensitive teats popping not inelegantly through her silk and soft lace dressing gown. 'You'll be the death of me, you know that? You almost look indecent, in your condition. Have you one of those... pump things, or do you prefer the hands on approach?" He squeezed his eyes shut and raised a hand as if he were indulging in a fag. "Doctor?" he said again, and every second with no answer brought his eyebrows higher. "Well, then! I think I'll just... go and get Mister Jones. He's probably giving the triplets their mid-afternoon bath, eh? I'll just be a moment. Give you a chance to rest a bit before the little terrors make their noon appearance for lunch."

He rose, looking back at her every few steps as he walked out the door. She wasn't looking at anything he could recognize. She was looking inward, much as she'd done that first time, when the blue crystal had first come into their care, his for the first, hers for the second. Then he went down the stairs and was gone.

The Doctor, the woman in the bed, let out the breath she'd been holding as she dropped the Brig's white marble Queen onto the floor, where it clacked dully, a single phrase filling her thoughts to the exclusion of all else as she sucked in air again in time with the horrible, familiar beating of her twin hearts. It was like listening to drums...thump thump thump _thump_, thump thump thump _thump_, thump thump thump _thump_, thump thump thump _thump_. Wrapt in silent anguish now, she stopped one heart and forced it to a different rhythm, but always the drumming returned, like a penetrating solar flare, burning through her chest and razing her hypersensitive nerve endings to ash. Over and over again...

Suddenly, a single thought cooled the ache in her brain and she followed it thirstily. Where was the crystal? Intrigued out of her daymare, she threw back the sheets and ran out of the room, the question in her mind propelling her down the stairs, igniting more queries as her footfalls slid and clapped along the downward aiming steps. Why were her hearts beating so fast? Why the drums? Why now, when -he- was dead in fire at the end of the universe? Why the sound of drums, beating relentlessly in her chest?

As she neared the bottom of the staircase, the room began to spin, and she clutched her chest, desperation turning to anxiety turning to the throat clenching parch of sheer narcotic giddiness. Whoever or whatever it was that had inhibited the Imprimatur, injecting an unknown quantity into the equation. The solution no longer fit. Something in her calculations was wrong, and she had less than a week of life left to discover what, she realized rather hastily as she leaned upon the stair rail and hung there, panting. Despite the anxious faces of Luke and Maria running into each other like soupy grits with eyes and teeth, the Doctor reached out to them, giggling hard and staggering like a drunkard as she swayed on her feet. She was still laughing when they helped her to the kitchen and sat her down in one of Sarah Jane's nice wood chairs.

"Luke! Martha! I mean Maria, sorry love! Listen... you two. I need to tell you something, something horribly important. And I'm very sorry... " She swallowed, her eyes unfocused and dilated even in the kitchen brights. "What I mean to say is, I think there's something on my-

"Back!" The Brig called out from the front door. "Hope no one died while I was gone. There was someone out behind the house. Didn't find the blighter though. How is... ah." He stared at the Doctor, giggling herself to death over an empty cuppa while Maria knelt on the floor, trying to grab hold of the Time Lord's surprisingly well manicured and slender feet.

"You three all right with the world then?" Ianto Jones trudged out from the water closet with a smile on his face, despite the soapy foam dotting most of his grey suit, his shoulders and waist each supporting a Time Child-filled sling. "These three angels are absolutely gorgeous in the bath. Must have been their mother's influence, eh Doctor?"

The Doctor stopped laughing and just stared at him, cold tears beading, puffing up her pale cheeks with an apple blush. "I'm losing it," she said softly, as she smiled and put out a trembling hand for Luke, who knelt beside her chair, took her fingers in his and held them to his chest.

"What is it, Doctor? What is it you can't find? We'll help you!"

All eyes were on her now, but she could only smile and stare ahead despite herself.

"... my mind."


	10. Chapter 10

chapter ten: Harkness Versus the Spiders, Part One

"You like me remember?" Jack said softly, surprising himself as he gently caressed the console plate that hexagoned the TARDIS' Time Rotor. "This is no time to be indecisive, Iraj my pet. The Doctor wants us to go and save Sarah Jane, now. We have to go to Metebelis III, if that's where she's being held. How about it, my girl?" He paused, stroking the Rotor itself and oozing every ounce of honest charm he'd gained since travelling with the slightly mad Time Lord they'd both learned to love a little too much for comfort. "We ought to get going before the Old Man has her way with the opposition. You can't really expect me to believe you don't want in on it, do you, darling?"

The TARDIS gave a lazy hum, and it felt as though the entirety of her innards did a jig while he was standing somewhere at the zenith of vehicular mirth. (It) didn't help Jack much though, because the Time Rotor remained silent, immobile despite the naughty ship's obvious reply.

"She's dying, Iraj. Our Time Lord is dying, and yet we're just sitting here like we're on some blind date. Why? What is it you want the stupid monkey to understand? Please let me in, sweetheart." He was pleading now, the first desperate idea of planting kisses on every tiny bolt of her to get her to hear him now fading from his agitated mind like so much smoke.

"They're all so clingy, holding onto My Doctor with their grimy little hands. They are children, next to me. All of them are. All of them but you."

Jack froze; soft, feminine footsteps came ambling down an unfamiliar whiteness of corridor, coming closer, padding like cat paws on the hard gratings right to him. He looked up... and saw a blue-skinned Lady where none could have been, where none should have. Of course he knew who she was. How could he not? He had asked, and she'd come. But not running, no. Not her, not the TARDIS. Never running.

"Iraj... are you all right? We need to get going, and I don't think we should be wasting time on the chorus when we should be focusing on the orchestra!"

The blue woman bowed her head, letting a tumble of tendrils fall back from her face; they were long, short, braided, unbraided, trailing, upswept, falling like well-needed rain on a summer day against her naked back.

"You made the overture, did you not? I am merely returning the gesture, as you little ones say. But you aren't a little boy, are you Jack?"

Plump azure lips wetted themselves, prepared to kiss-

He stood straight, mental eyes climbing the walls for some excuse to escape the amorous ship's advances. This was no time for copulating with his best mate's Time Ship, no matter how deliciously, sociopathically Machiavellian the Time Lord's illness might be making said Ship at the moment. He had Sarah Jane to save, and if the Doctor's condition didn't improve, her and her deeply affected Ship would be added to the short list of damsels in distress.

If any of them survived that long. From what the Brigadier had mentioned of the -Eight Legs-, as they referred to themselves, they were simply a deluded bunch of overgrown spiders on a power trip. But the Brig hadn't been to Metebelis III, couldn't have witnessed the event that had cost the Time Lord one of his precious lives once he'd returned safely to UNIT headquarters, to the Brig, and to his Sarah Jane. All the signs were there. And that same Sarah Jane Smith, the only one who truly knew what might have happened, was alone on the primitive one time human colony planet the Doctor had already upended once to save her. Absently he wondered if there would be any humans left there to aid his own rescue mission.

"Did you just call me Machiavellian, Jack?"

Again, Jack felt himself ice over like a fat goose stuck in a frozen lake on Christmas. Sickened by her Lord's condition, the TARDIS had the Captain exactly where she wanted him, and for once in his entirely too long life, he had no intention of staying.


	11. Chapter 11

chapter eleven: Saccharin

"...and then dear, sweet Ace pulled out some Nitro Nine and that, as they say, was the Bomb."

The Doctor was on a roll. Again. Even dying, the quirky old alien really had a certain graceful way about her.

It was rather painful for Ianto Jones to watch the ancient object of Jack Harkness' considerable affection exhaust herself like this. She'd been up since dawn, idly alternating between talking to herself and levitating Sarah Jane's toaster up from the table and down again while everyone else was either asleep, trying to exercise -and therefore spark a possible resurgence of- what was left of her colossal mental prowess, he was sure.

"Doctor," he asked in what he considered a completely querulous tone, "... do you happen to know where Jack went? He hasn't been here since yesterday. I was hoping you might... you know... know."

The alien woman looked up, her face awash in streaks of ginger hair that seemed somehow more limp than before, more damp with the sweat of serious illness as though she were made of sugar and it was raining. Hard.

"Not at all, Ianto Jones," she lied matter-of-factly, then went back to lifting the toaster without touching anything. "I... know... nothing."

Her young face became a mask, wrinkling up in all those little ways a pretty face could scrunch, and she began to speak in earnest, at last. Maybe.

"I rather think I did know something once, but now... that's all... well it's up and gone. Let's be clear on the subject. I've lost everything I held dear, everything I... "

"… loved." They both finished it at once, staring off at each other, past eyes, past the timeless presence of death that loomed close. Just looking, of course.

At least he was.

"I brought you a lager... " said Ianto, reaching out to touch one of her thin arms. So thin, they were... they hadn't been, at the funeral, but she'd been pregnant with her three then. He tried to convince himself it was just the baby weight she'd lost so quickly.

"I'm a dying disintegrate. Eating myself from the inside out, I am, like a bloody lamprey, and you bring me a beer?" the Doctor muttered, staring ahead. "Well let's have it then. Is it English and warm, or American, fake and cold? Course at this point I really don't care." She took a swig from the dark brown bottle, then capped it, examining every centimetre of dark glass and aged paper label as the toaster crashed to the table behind her.

"Are those children of Sarah Jane's around? I don't want her little protégées joining in on our -oh I'm so past the drinking age it's silly- fun."

Ianto shivered, when he thought of last night, as the Doctor had been the one to tell them to stay away until the adults got things sorted. She'd been fixated on the incident at the wedding, stating repeatedly that she didn't want them involved, hadn't wanted them to be harmed. Luke's face had held such a sad look, and Maria's look hadn't seemed much better than Clyde's. They must have realized it then, must have well and truly gauged the change in her. Kids were perceptive, like that. It reminded him of how they'd looked at the funeral.

"Well, Doctor, " Ianto murmured, deflating inside as he looked, really looked, and saw for the first time the ravaged, not quite vacant expression on the Time Lord's face. "… do you think Jack will get to her in time?"

The Doctor was staring at him now, blinking blue eyes like cornflowers waving in a summer wind. One moment they blazed with life, the next they were roundel forests of blue ice that tore at him with a sense of such emptiness Ianto had to look away, or vomit. But worst of all were the periods of unmoving blankness he now found when he gazed too deeply into those pools. It would have been like gazing at a seraphim… if that seraphim had been lobotomized and stuck in a stinking subterranean prison cell with only greased and bloodied padded walls for what was left of comfort.

As he watched then, the Doctor rose from her chair and moved to the window, her hand on her lower belly as she crossed the hardwood floor and took hold of the sill. Her breath came out in puffs of shallow, icy clouds, and slowly, carefully, absently… she started to say something.

"I don't know. But I do know this, Ianto Jones," the Time Lord said softly, arching her body slightly toward him as though caught forever in some artist's sensual rendering. "... whatever Jack is doing, it's safe to say that both the TARDIS and I are profoundly appreciative of everyone's efforts, especially yours."

Ianto felt a shudder as she turned away from him. Then he saw her face in the mirror of the window pane, and something else overtook him.

"Did I ever tell you how absolutely ravishing you look in that suit?"

Absolute terror.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve: Desperate Measures

Jack wondered absently how far his body could actually grate itself into the roundel dotted wall behind him. The TARDIS was coming for him now, her borrowed flesh on fire with mad lust.

The sex-fever the TARDIS was experiencing must have finally penetrated the Doctor's thick skull, else why was she even bothering to look away from her prize when she had her Other Favorite Captain so neatly cornered?

It had to be the Doctor. But, if the TARDIS was coming on to him, who was the Time Lord coming on to? Was she even still conscious after yesterday?

But then he was interrupted.

His buttocks felt pinched, not by their own devices, but by a rather stand-out pair of finger and thumb that threatened to distract him from his altogether wholesome focus. Stiffening in Iraj's grasp, Jack reached back and gently removed her hand from his arse cheek.

"Now now, dear, I know you think this is what you want, but it's not, not in this way. You don't want to hurt the Doctor, do you Iraj? She's sick," he reasoned, edging just a not quite adequate American foot or so away from his flirtatious admirer, "… and you know if she weren't she would object to this. You would too. Try to remember that we're needed, Iraj. Try to think. You remember Sarah Jane, don't you? You like her. The Doctor likes her too."

He paused, casting dutiful blues against the charming Ship's newfound borrowed curves. Being a veteran at this, he knew better than to press his luck. In his present predicament, the wrinkles could very well become permanent... no use finding out how many he already had.

"And what makes you think I do not know my own desires?" Came the screeching cry that rang from every surface, every corridor like a call to war.

At that precise moment, somewhere in the depths, a portrait of Romanadvoratrelundar in a sailing dress was jostled askew. Then it slipped from the wall and crashed to the floor, littering glass across the odd bit of retro parquet patterning.

"Oh, but I –am- a child, Iraj. Here, look!" Jack breathed, lurching backward into his own mind, grasping for the bitter memories with names. Father. Mother. Boeshane. Gray.

Just this one time, he thought as he flung his pain at the Doctor's precious Ship; just this once I'm gonna play the drama queen.

After the sex-fever, what would come next? All the Doctor's careful barriers of age and civility were being loosened by whatever was killing them both. When he got back to the house, would he find the Time Lord mindless and drooling, her sweet white arse in the air, asking for it like a feral dog in heat?

The thought made hot bile fill his throat. Stomach acid nipped at his uvula, his soft palate. His vocal chords. He swallowed, then flung his fears at the object of his affection's wonderful Ship.

A little whimper shook the mad whore who had come to him, and with a shriek the TARDIS' faded blue doors slammed open, inviting his escape.

Jack ran; some things were meant never to be easy. The Doctor would never forgive him, but the choice was clear. Save the Doctor, save the universe.

It was either that, or doom the alien he needed to the knowledge that nature really was a bitch.


	13. Chapter 13

Ch13Author's Note: title by me, chapter by tardis_mole, my beloved big brother

Chapter Thirteen: Time in a Bottle

Colours. That's what they were. A profusion of colours. At one time he could amuse himself by naming them all. It could take as much as a week. Joy. At one time he had wanted to, but it seemed as if his brain had disconnected from his eyes and now all he saw was colour. The names were lost somewhere. Perhaps if he could take a moment he could perhaps remember where he left them.

He was sure they were around here somewhere.

Strangely, for a woman of his great age - his? Well he had been a man once. Actually more than once, but that was not the issue in hand - at her great age then. At her great age she should know better than to lose things. Thing that were very important. Colour was very important. Wasn't it?

She was looking for something. Blue? Blue and oddly shaped, like a crystal… Yes! She remembered. Joy! She remembered the crystal.

The Doctor's mind sank down again into the smoke-filled abyss of near death. Sleep. Within the smoke lay half submerged figures, though she was more inclined to think they were actually beyond her eyes rather than behind them. Yes, probably circling the bed. Was she still lying on the bed?

She couldn't remember. And if it was important, surely she would remember? Well, there was so much stuff in her head to remember. For goodness sake, why didn't she get a bigger head? And the filing system seemed to be out of commission. Need to get a man in.

Fireplace! Yes! Get a man in!

Hold on, that was a lifetime ago. No longer important. What was important? The blue….

There it was again.

A noise.

Scuttling.

Talking?

Was someone trying to call his name? Well, if they were he couldn't answer. See, he had no built in light switch in here. And it was lovely and warm, so why get up and put the light on? Spoil everything that would. It would destroy a lovely myth with a cold hard fact - he was blind.

There. See? Now he'd - she'd - gone and done it. New she knew there was a problem. She couldn't see. Was she dead already? Jack? Am I dead?

There was no reply, which didn't really surprise her. Jack was probably busy. Saving her. And the world. And Sarah Jane. Oh!! Sarah Jane!! She had forgotten about her… she'd been somewhere. And the blue crystal had taken her somewhere else.

Scuttling.

Again.

And shapes in the mist that enveloped everything. All her lovely memories masked as much as the less than lovely ones. And she had plenty of them. Like the most recent memory - three tiny babies. Gone. Were they dead too?

The Doctor could feel something wet on her cheeks. And then a sob hacked its way upward to her throat and then it was out, hollow, and empty in the darkness. It echoed like a lost soul in a cellar. Forgotten.

Where are they? Where are my poor babies? Where's Jack when I need him? And Sarah Jane?

Anyone?

Don't leave me here. All alone.

In the dark.

Everything had gone dark without her realising it. Now there were no colours to remember. But she was not satisfied. She was being watched. She could feel it. The eyes of a thousand heads, or the many eyes of hundreds of heads perhaps?

She would rather have been alone.

And the shifting smoky figures turned towards him, like a terracotta army on a November dawn. And she felt her body shudder in fear. They were not soldiers. They were…

She heard a scream echo in the stillness and as it slowly faded she realised it was hers. She shrieked, like a banshee afraid of itself. And why would it not if it had a mirror to look at itself? She shrieked again, in terror.

Her hearts…


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14: Chimera

As he grabbed the flailing Time Lord by the wrists, clamping an already bruised elbow over her biting, gnashing mouth, Jack almost vomited.

"Ianto," he said, staring into his charge's blind, stumbling eyes as his lover looked on with black hatred for the pain that was tangibly filling the room, "… it's time for those energetic restraints we talked about. Power them up and then bring them up here, would you? I don't need to tell you to put a rush on it."

The woman on the bed was still flailing as Ianto Jones moved outside the room to the stairs, to leave his lover alone with her.

Then, as she listened there, held fast by an impossible human's strong grasp, she knew she could wait no longer. Her body glistening with the silver sheen of unnatural sweat, she slid and squirmed beneath him weakly, murmuring for him, wanting him. Needing him close to her.

She writhed up and forward, her flesh arching up like a spitting snake as she grabbed his head in both hands and breathed close to his mouth, sucking at his air, her mind curling toward the inevitable strange return her body had been planning without her. Then a feral heat glazed her aura in sunlike lines that cut across her form, as the rush of regressive devolution, at last, came over her head. Drowning. Transforming. Transmuting into what had been before.

As Jack's eyes swelled wide, draining like filthy culverts after a long storm, those lines of light across her shape glowed, veins of gold written in gleaming caurus and coruscant line growing and leaping and running through flesh until they cooled suddenly, carving ancient circulars into the lie of youthful skin.

The pretty lace dressing gown was singed as if by flame, wet with sweat though it was, and dimly the sound of tapping could be heard outside.

Jack found himself, understandably, torn. Should he look to the window and pursue the sound, or size up instead the strange creature in the bed before him, who gazed through him from the milk of blue blindness. Or was it from the clouds?

As he stood up, his mind already made, a cracking issued from the bed. He looked, transfixed by bone and sinew as he saw his old friend's body arch at the knees, the kneecaps bending back, and back. And back. This time the joints and bones did more than just crack. They broke, spitting ligament and blood over the fine linens. The Doctor-thing just… popped its elegant jaw and settled in for the change, like it was having a cuppa. As the storm of transformation quieted, a silence came over the room, and then, as a last rebellion, two bony lumps burst from the Doctor's back, twisting up and out, covering themselves in nerves and flesh and… feathers?

She leapt to all fours, knocking Jack Harkness to the ground as she landed just so on the blood striped round carpet at the foot of the bed. She, as if the thing of wild power before him could be called anything other than raw; dangerous, possibly…far more indiscriminate of prey than Jack wanted to admit as he gazed, macabre-ly even by his standards, over her new cattish lines. He knew that form anywhere. In this century, it gazed across the sands of Upper Egypt like a sleeping guardian, lying prostrate, watchful, its toes a lion's, its claws a lion's, too. But this face with eyes of cloudy blue, the unchanged face of the angel he loved so well from so very far away, was upon it.

He hadn't known that Gallifrey'd had sphinx in its blood… but, as she reared up on her hinds and turned so slowly to face him, he had to admit, he liked. He liked a lot. Still, this was no time for Sex and Philosophy 101.

"Doctor?" Jack said softly, casting his eyes to the side and providing no challenge, as should be done with any wild animal.

She pawed at the ground, sniffing the air, a bloodhound after a scent. Then she shook, grinned like a cat, grabbed him in her big front paws and tore through the upstairs wall, landing in the street below in a rage of brick dust.


End file.
